Stories, cupolas bulge in these fieldswe're passing through: these infamousbunkers ranked across strategic slopesrefuse to let history disperse.Stubborn, they endure at roadsides,in vineyards, gardens, the city’s asphalt brink.Goats graze along their silted mouthsand, garishly painted, one would drawin clients for a rash and hasty tattoo.

It took an old Chinese tank to dragone clear of sodden sand at Vlora,and 800 Euros to dismantle it.Elsewhere, too, you might have readof how, to turn a dictator’s schemeinto this geometric, defensive terrain,the architect became the first test case,emerging from the shelled prototype,deafened, unspeakably loyal, triumphant.